with the falling sky
by msbarks
Summary: the world as humanity knew it is gone. a nuclear explosion wiped the world of warm weather and vegetation and man is fighting against man for food and weapons. the patron-minette are at the front lines, keeping power through fear and searching for the one girl that slipped through their fingers.
1. Chapter 1

**notes**: this is different than anything i have ever written, so hopefully it doesn't disappointed! it is based a little bit off of revolution, but the main issue isn't the electricity (although that was a side effect of the nuclear explosion). i have most of the story planned out, but i am always open to suggestions! i am also incredibly nervous about posting this, so any feedback and constructive criticism is more than welcome! i hope you like it (it will probably be around ten chapters) and if you have any serious questions, please ask!

* * *

the world wasn't always like this; unhappy and cold. i can remember moments when there was sun, when it kissed my body and tickled the soles of my feet, when i could wear shorts and feel the heat on my legs. but that was three years ago. and no one can really remember the sunlight now. no one can remember the time when they could turn on the television and forget the hardships or when they could walk to grocery store and taste an apple. because the nuclear explosion changed everything.

they say it was an accident. they say that it wasn't meant to happen, but there are some who believe otherwise. there are some who think it was meant to happen because the idea of power can push people to do unthinkable things. the patron-minette are in charge. and maybe they caused the explosion. or maybe they didn't. but they rule with iron and guns. they rule with fear and terror. they rule with the hardness of their hearts.

it's a war. it's a war against nature. against the frigid winds and the nonexistant vegetation. but it is also a war against humanity. against the patron-minette. against the people who have nothing to lose and need a loaf of bread. it's a war that everyone is destined to lose.

* * *

"what are we looking for again?" bahorel asks from behind a bush.

"food," jehan replies. food has been scarce as of late, and with the winter coming, everyone is out looking for new sources, or new fields to work.

"maybe it's time to move on."

they both turn at the sound of a sigh and boots crushing the leaves beneath their feet and see enjolras, his body covered in mud and grime. "jesus, enjolras. have you ever heard of a bath?" jehan and bahorel laugh and step out from their respective bushes (neither of them found anything that was edible).

as usual, enjolras ignores them, but the glimmer of a smirk can almost be seen. "we can't move on. it will be the same everywhere. we need to make do with what we have."

"there are one hundred people at the settlement. one hundred. and no food."

"there is food. not as much fruit as we would like, but we have the chickens and the cows. they were prepared for this."

"i can't live without raspberries, enjolras!"

bahorel lets out a bark of a laugh. "jehan, raspberries really aren't that good."

"yes they are-" jehan doesn't finish his defence of raspberries though. instead he is interrupted by the sound of horses on the dirt, shouts of men, and two individual gunshots.

of course its enjolras who snaps into action first, but jehan and bahorel take off after him, their legs carrying them back to the settlement. they don't know what is going on, but they haven't had the patron-minette visit them in months. and a visit from the patron-minette is never good.

montparnasse is the face they see, his mouth curved up in a small smirk that the three men know all too well. out of the patron-minette, he is the most lenient, and the one that they would prefer visit if the patron-minette did in fact decide to come. but beside him is thenardier, his mouth in a similiar smirk and eyes that make jehan shiver.

"what do you want?" enjolras takes three steps towards the wagon, his shoulders back and his posture impossibly straight.

"you know what we want, monsieur." it comes out as a snark; an insult and enjolras's jaw visibly tightens.

"how did you find us?" its joly who speaks up this time and takes the three steps towards them, standing beside enjolras, the two of them making a small barrier between the two members of the patron-minette and the civilians of their settlement.

the sound that comes out of thenardier's mouth makes the hair on the back of jehan's neck stick up straight. this is the man who raised eponine. eponine, the girl with wild hair and a body that could disappear when she wanted it to. there is a pang in his chest and he glances a look at combeferre because if he is thinking of eponine, then he knows without a doubt that combeferre is as well.

but he doesn't see any acknowledgement. combeferre stands still, a statue, but jehan knows that in a few more seconds he will stand beside enjolras.

and sure enough, he takes the steps and pushes his glasses back up to his eyes. "she isn't here." calm. combeferre is always calm and no one ever wonders why he is considered to be second in command, or why enjolras goes to combeferre when he is too riled up rather than any of the others. because combeferre balances out. he is the water that soothes the fire.

"what do you mean she isn't here?" montparnasse sounds incredulous. "she was always with you. she wouldn't leave you." montparnasse pauses, his smirk disappearing for a few seconds, until his lips curve again but with malice this time and he laughs; cold and cruel. "unless she left you."

its silent and a few beats past. no one speaks. no one even breathes until combeferre takes another step forward. "she is gone. you killed her."

"i may not have loved the brat, but i did not kill my daughter." thenardier scoffs in disbelief.

"you did. when you set off that bomb you didn't look to see if she was there. you didn't check to make sure she had stayed at the apartment like you told her to. she was with us. she was fighting with us. and then you set off the bomb."

* * *

darkness cloaks the buildings and nothing can be heard except for the owl that has made its home in the tree to the left of a cabin. nothing can be seen either. but someone is moving, her body snaking through the crevaces and her feet barely touching the ground.

she is the shadow.

no one knows who she is. and no one sees her because she is careful not to go out in the light. people want her. there is a bounty on her head, and in the dire times, everyone wants to be in on the patron-minette's good side. but she can't afford that.

she is dead.

or at least that is what her friends think. the friends who left her bloody and bruised on the sidewalk. the friends who touched her wrist and barely felt a pulse, but didn't stay long enough to watch her chest heave as she took a breath or her eyelids flutter as she woke up. no. they had left her. and with that, they had left the girl of who she once was.

she supposes that it is better this way though. that with her being dead, eventually her father will find out. which means eventually she will be able to go out on her own, in the light, without being afraid that she will be taken.

but for now she stays in the shadows, only going out at night, and taking what she can from the stores that don't lock their doors.

(they should know better than that)

she hears the whispers from inside the cabin the day after she has taken something and eventually she knows that she will be caught but in order to survive, one needs food. and it isn't just herself she is caring for.

it is the man she found with a mangled leg that she cares for.

she had found him when she had woken up, dust and dirt filling the air. she had tried to ignore him, everyone was moaning on the street if they weren't dead and she could only think of herself. but she had looked at him. seen his eyes plead with her, and she hadn't been able to leave him there. something about him had called to her humane side, the side that yearned to care for another human being since leaving gavroche and azelma and she had taken him under hear arm, given him her jacket, and found solice with the nuns who didn't care (or know) who she was. it was for him that she stole the bread.

as usual, he was awake, sitting at the table, fingers drumming the wood and his face lit up when he saw her walk in. she knew he didn't like what she did, that he would prefer she didn't steal. "i can go in the morning," he would say before she went out, and eventually, eponine had begun to leave while he was asleep, but he always woke up. (she blamed it on their loud as fuck door).

"i don't know how you do it, 'ponine," he says with a light hearted smile on his face. part of her wonders if he would ever get mad at her, if his face would ever darken and his arm rise above his head. but he hasn't. not yet. and maybe that's why she feels her heart lurch and a smiled spread across her own face.

"i'm a shadow." she dumps the bag with bread and a bit of meat on the table. fruits and vegetation are low. they have been low ever since the explosions but she has learned to live without salads and apples. (and no raspberries means she is able to forget about the group who left her for the dead).

* * *

montparnasse's frigid back almost crumbles and for a second, combeferre thinks he might even cry. he can't explain the anger that fills him for a second, and anger that doesn't fit his cool demeanor, but when montparnasse brings his shoulders back and narrows his eyes, the anger leaves and combeferre feels a bit more normal. for now.

"you cannot lie to us. we will find her. and if you won't give her to us, we will take her." not even a beat passes before monparnasse has moved to the wagon and two men that had been behind it come out with their guns out. enjolras barely has time to bring out his own gun before shots are fired and screams ring out in the air.

"get into the houses!" jehan exclaims, pushing as many people as he can into the buildings that had been left standing after the explosion. joly and courfeyrac join with him as the rest of the group try to protect the people they have come to love.

but they can't do enough and some are shot, their bodies crumbling to the ground and it reminds combeferre of the bombing, of eponine's body as she went limp and her head cracked on the pavement. it's almost too much, but the silence stops him.

the gunshots stop.

grantaire stands at the front of the cafe musain, gun raised, and is staring at the two bodies that have fallen. two bodies wearing red and the white PM on the collar. he can barely stand and sways dangerously until joly rushes towards him and takes the gun.

"you shot them." disbelief fills the air. disbelief that graintaire, the least likely to hit a target and the most drunk, killed tow of the patron-minette's army.

"they will come for us now," jehan says a bit sadly, his head lowered. no one can reply because they know that he is right. they will come back. and when they find out that they shot to kill, they will be taken.

"we are putting people in danger by being here. we knew that this would happen when we settled. it's time for us to move on." enjolras's voice is strong and when combeferre looks around, he realizes that those who had gone into their houses are out again and looking at them with curiosity.

"enjolras is right. we need to plan. we need to think. and we need to make sure these people are safe."

joly has now wrapped his arm around musichetta, but she shakes him off. "if you go, so do we." but no one steps forwards with her, no one moves from their doorstep, and her face looks crestfallen. her act of heroism hasn't inspired.

but a blonde does step up beside her and laces her fingers with musichetta. combeferre has never actually spoken to her but knows her name. cosette. friend to musichetta. and apparently someone who is willing to follow them blindly.

joly speaks to the two girls in hushed voices but they shake their heads. "we are going with you."

* * *

it takes them longer than combeferre and enjolras would have liked to get their stuff together and to leave the settlement, but its not because of musichetta and cosette.

it's because neither grantaire or joly wanted to leave behind their art.

but eventually they set off, guns holstered to their hips and bags slung over their shoulders. they have a plan. they know where their final destination is. but they need somewhere to plan their attack. they have suspicions that the nuclear explosion wasn't an accident and that the man deemed responsible was never actually guilty. but that is a hard thing to prove. and with the patron-minette watching everybody's every move, they need to find somewhere safe to figure out their attack plan.

combeferre isn't sure how long they walk for in silence, or how long grantaire has gone without a drink, but they find themselves at the outskirts of paris, the city that had once been their homes, and an overwhelming sense of grief fills combeferre.

they stand in silence, staring at the buildings, the ruins, the cold cloud of dust that blocks the sun from really shining through and mourn those who were lost; the ones who didn't stand a chance. if it wasn't the initial explosion that killed, it was the radiation. and if it wasn't the radiation, is was the aftermath. it was the gunwounds, the knife wounds, the fight for their lives when food became short that killed. they are in a war.

and it isn't going to end anytime soon.

together, they decide to avoid the interior of the city (even now it would be dangerous) and instead move to the left. the chances of them finding an unoccupied building now is slim, but it is possible. and they do find a house, with its lights off and no sign of life.

combeferre is the one who steps forwards, the one who is willing to be the first there if someone is in fact inhabiting the small cabin, but before he can take more than two steps, a woman steps out of the house, gun raised.

her hair is wild, whipping in the wind and she looks too small to even be alive. she isn't wearing a coat, and by the way she avoids shivering, combeferre is almost certain that she hasn't seen a coat in a few months.

but it isn't the gun pointed at his heart that forces the adrenaline to rush through his veins; its the eyes of the woman he thought to be dead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes: **I didn't mean for this chapter to take as long to get to, but I had to figure out how I wanted to do it, and I ended up re-writing it a few times before finally publishing it. We will get to a bit more action soon, I promise! As always, feedback and constructive criticism is more than welcome, and if at any point you feel that something is off, please let me know!

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

Grantaire is the one who gets her to lower her weapon, who whispers something in her ear that makes her eyes soften and her back relax. At least, until she looks back at Combeferre and he can almost feel the bullets that she wants to throw his way. Grantaire whispers something to her again, and she turns away with a nod and walks back into the cabin.

Everyone follows her suit, but if one were to look at their postures, they would think they were on their death match. (It is quite possible they are. After all, she is supposed to be dead and they were the ones who left her). But Combeferre doesn't. He can't. Not when his mind is working at five thousand thoughts per second.

How is she alive? Why didn't she pull the trigger? What is she doing so close to Paris, so close to where the Patron-Minette is? She is smarter than that. She must know that they are looking for her.

Combeferre isn't sure how long he stands there, the cold wind nipping at his already pink face, before Feuilly walks outside. "Everyone's wondering what you're doing."

"Everyone but Eponine," he says a bit sadly and the memories overcome him like a wave washing to shore; the way she smiled every time he brought out one of his favorite books or the way she would swat at his hand when he became too contemplative. He swears he can even feel her calloused hands on his waist, his ribs, beneath his waist band, and he shivers because she was the best thing he ever had. She was more than he ever deserved. And he had left her on the street. Dead.

Or at least, he had thought she was dead.

But now is not the time for him to get lost in memories, to feel the waves of nostalgia licking at his brain. Now is the time for planning, and hell, do they need to plan. So Combeferre straightens his shoulders, pushes his glasses back up his nose, and walks into the cabin.

* * *

It isn't what he was expecting, but then again, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. Not for it to be quite as homey, that's for sure. The walls aren't quite clean, but he knows that Eponine must have been spending her time getting food. But then his eyes fall upon the man sitting at the table. The man with his leg resting on Joly's lap and a grimace of pain on his face.

"This is Marius," Joly states, barely looking up from the gash that heis expecting and it takes everything Combeferre has not to pass out right then. He is used to blood now, but gashes that deep, gashes that smell like death, are wounds that he isn't accustomed to.

Gun wounds are all he can really handle.

"Eponine was just about to tell us how she is still alive." Grantaire has a wide grin on his face, eyes twinkling with only what can be the effects of alcohol and sure enough, when Combeferre looks closer at the scene, he can see a bottle of whiskey already half empty and both Grantaire and Eponine holding a glass.

She doesn't look his way, and Combeferre feels a pang in his chest and suddenly he wants the nostalgia back because how can he remember happiness when she won't even glance his way?

"I wasn't as close to the bomb as everyone thought and it was the fall that injured me the most. All I remember is the sound, the grating of the building as it fell, and then just blackness. I don't even remember hitting the ground. When I woke up, no one was there. Only bodies. And moans." She takes a large gulp of her whiskey, larger than Combeferre remembers her liking to take, and shudders. "I was going to leave Marius, but his wound didn't look that bad and I thought that maybe if I got caught by the Patron-Minette, they would be less likely to know it was me if I was with someone they didn't recognize."

Bahorel looks at her quizzically. "So how did you get out though? You cracked your head pretty hard. We all saw it."

She shrugs nonchalantly. "It was hard, and when we got to the convent, the nuns told me I had a concussion and I was dragging two hundred pounds with me, but it was either get somewhere safe or lie there until the Patron-Minette came. And I thought maybe this was my chance to disappear, you know? I had a bit of cash left over so we got a few rides here and there until we came to the convent. And they fed us and tried to wrap Marius's wounds, but we could only stay there until I was better and then we had to move."

"How did you find the cabin?" Combeferre speaks up and it isn't until he does that he realizes how far he has leaned towards the table, engrossed.

Eponine gives him another glare, a glare that he has become only too accustomed to in the past ten minutes, before Marius answers. "It was my grandfather's."

"And he doesn't mind us staying?" Enjolras asks, skeptical.

"He is gone. Died after the first incident."

The room is silent. They know only too well how it is to have a family member die; to have someone you knew to pass from the earth. And while the silence is no funeral (there are too many deaths to have funerals for everyone) they all decided that they would have moments of silence instead.

"We've been here for about two months now," Eponine speaks up again, her eyes glued on Marius this time and Combeferre hates the other feeling that rises in his chest this time; jealousy.

Because she isn't look at Marius just in concern. She is looking at him with the look that had only been reserved once upon a time. A look that had never failed to turn his insides to mush.

"If we could stay here for a few days to plan, that would be go-" Eponine cuts Enjolras with a wave of her hand.

"Stay as long as you like. But be careful. Be quiet. Don't go out during the day. If you need something to eat, let me know and I will go out at night but no one knows I am here. And no one can know you are here either." She disappears for a second, only to return a few minutes later with blankets and pillows that Combeferre assumes Marius's grandfather let. "You can fight about who sleeps where. There is a living room, and I suppose someone can share a room or Marius if anyone feels comfortable enough. Grantaire can share the bed with me, I suppose." Grantaire scoffs before raising his glass and muttering a 'thanks Ep' and there is a round of laughs that lightens the mood for a second.

She drops the blankets off in a heap on the table and disappears, but not before placing a comforting arm on Marius that seems to linger just a second too long.

* * *

Eponine lies in the bed, her arms stretched above her head and the blanket covering her slim frame. She is relieved that they are alive. After all, they had been her family for a good seven years, but she can't help but feel worried. Even before they left her, they had been planning an uprising. A "revolution." And that is the last thing that Eponine needs in her life. The past five months she has been able to avoid the Patron-Minette, but now that Les Amis are there, now that they will be walking the streets or roaming the forest, it will only be a matter of time before her father or Montparnasse finds her (although she would rather the latter found her if anyone).

And Combeferre. How dare he sit across the table from her, glasses askew, eyes pooling with concern. Had she not mastered how to harden her heart, she might have lept across the table towrds him out of relief and allowed his arms to wrap around her the way they used to those months ago. But she was better than that. He had left her. He, out of everyone else in the group, should have known that she would never let death take her that easily. But he had left her, and he is the one that she is unable to forgive.

* * *

They sit at the table, none of them reaching for the blankets, because while they have a safe spot for now, they have planning to do. They have lists to make and weapons to check, and damn it, they have to deal with Eponine being alive.

Combeferre would worry about Marius, but part of him feels hardened against the man (and both Cosette and Joly helped him to the room and never came out). He knows he is over reacting. He knows that Eponine has clearly moved on, and that if she has moved on with this new man, he should be happy. Hell, his happy that she is even alive. But what he wants is to share her bed, not Grantaire.

Enjolras brings him back to the now, away from memories of Eponine's dark hair spread like a fan across the pillow and her soft scent of Jasmine and back to plans.

"We need weapons. We need to find out where they are, where their base is, and we need to figure out the best way to aggravate them."

"We need to relax for a night," Grantaire calls out from his spot in the corner, the entire whiskey bottle in his hand rather than just a glass.

"Grantaire, put that down!" Enjolras exclaims, and while Combeferre knows now is not the time, he can't help but feel like they are falling back into their old routines when things were right. Before the first incident.

"I agree with Grantaire," Jehan speaks up from where he is beside Musichetta. "One night, Enj. We can relax for one night and if we go to bed now, we will be up before Ep and Marius and we can start figuring things out and scoping where we are."

Enjolras shoots a glare at each person sitting at the table. "No. We will at least get a weapons list down first."

There is a collective sigh as Combeferre moves to stand beside Enjolras, already grabbing a piece of paper from his pocket and the pen that Bahorel passes him. They take a list of the weapons they have as well as the ammo and feel the weight that the list brings.

They are completely unprepared.

* * *

Grantaire falls into bed with Eponine at what must be eleven. She wasn't asleep. How could she sleep when she knew who was in the next room? Or when she could hear the laughs of a woman mixed with the low rumble of Marius's voice?

She knew she didn't have a chance, not with him, not when she looked like a woman who walked the streets at night and made her way by stealing. But he had never looked down on her, he had only ever been thankful and part of her wondered if maybe there was a chance. But when she hears another giggle that sounds like chimes in the wind, she feels her heart shatter just a bit more and she bites the bottom of her lip.

Grantaire worms his way under the covers beside her and she turns around to wrap her own arms around him. Grantaire had been her best friend, the one she had turned to and drank with at the bars, and even though he was one of the ones who had given up on her, she can't fight. Not now. Not when she needs him more than ever.

"We need guns," he mutters against the pillow (she was always big spoon when he spent the night with her) and Eponine barely nods.

Guns. She can get guns.

* * *

Combeferre is the first to awake, although that isn't much of a surprise. He glances at the hallway, hoping that Eponine left the door open and maybe he could catch a glimpse of her without her shooting daggers his way, but his shoulders slump when he sees the door is closed. But he does notice that Marius left his open, and both him and Cosette must have fallen asleep while talking because both of them are on the floor. (Joly will have a fit about the way his leg is but Combeferre doesn't have the heart to warn them).

Instead, he makes his way to the kitchen, feet padding on the cold wooden floor, and stops dead at the sight. On the table are guns. Ammo. Knives and daggers. There isn't an inch of the table that isn't covered and the shine casts a glare off of the windows.

He reaches out to grab one when the door squeaks open, and Eponine walks in, her arms holding a knife and a gun pointed straight at him.

"Eponine, what are you doing?" He asks, incredulous, reaching up to feel his glasses to make sure theyre still there.

"Grantiare said you needed weapons, so I got them." She lowers the gun and knife and sets them on the table, working around the kitchen, counting softly to herself.

"Ep, people are going to notice," he says with a small whisper, still baffled. She went out to get them weapons. She went out, even though s he can barely look at him, to get what they needed. Because she still believes in them.

She stands to face him, hands on her hips and chin held up, her eyes wild and her hair a mess. "Would you like me to take them back?" She asks, her tone dripping with ice.

"N-no, I-just, Eponine. You didn't need to go out and get them for us. We could have done it." He realizes now that he is the one not looking at her, that he is staring at his feet because he suddenly feels unsure.

"The sooner I get you weapons, the sooner you will get out of my hair and let me go back to my life," she states curtly, dropping the dagger that he was sure she was about to pass to him.


End file.
